Remnants of the Dawn
by x.keepingthemoon.x
Summary: Even as they placed the electrodes on his temples, he thought of Harry.


"Good morning, Mr Bligh. Time for your first treatment."

The curtains were pulled apart, the sunlight searing into the dark room and straight into his eyes. The men in the white coats pushed his untouched breakfast platter away from his bed and secured the guardrails.

What was the point, James thought, of even bringing him breakfast when he was so sedated he could hardly raise the spoon to his mouth?

"How are you feeling this morning, James?"

He blinked slowly. "Fine."

His voice broke. He hated that.

The wheels on the bed groaned beneath him as they moved, the men pushing him through the doorway of the room and out into the corridor.

He should be happy. This is what he had wanted.

James stared at the ceiling, his back flat; his arms by his side as the walls of white passed by.

The harsh overhead lights shone in his eyes forcing him to squint. Finally he shut them, allowing his eye lids to close, protecting himself from the medical, sterile room.

He would never had accepted being admitted, he thought, if he had known _how_ they were going to try and cure him beforehand.

"_He wants to start straight away. He's confident he can help."_

"_That's wonderful."_

"_It might not be pleasant."_

"_In what way?"_

"_Ah, he said he'll explain when I'm admitted. Wise to stay in an institution."_

"_A mental institution?"_

"_It's a mental condition."_

"_But – "_

"_I trust him. He can fix me."_

When they'd brought him in the night before, Doctor Stewart had explained.

James had always believed that a grown man should never show his fear. But now he couldn't help it.

He was terrified.

He had never heard of it before, this electroconvulsive therapy. It had only recently reached Australia and James couldn't help but feel he was an experiment no matter what the good doctor said. He could not see what benefit sending electric pulses through his brain could have. It would jumble his thoughts and make him lose parts of his memory.

He had been so sure of himself. That getting cured would be the right thing to do, by everybody.

Until his father showed up.

"_Is this why you tried to kill yourself? Might be best if you had. You disgust me!"_

The hatred in his father's voice had been evident. The rage pouring out of the man, directed at his son, filled the room.

And James had thought, was _anything_ that bad that his own father should hate him?

That he should wish him dead?

He wasn't a murderer or a rapist or even physically abusive like Bert Ford. Had he really done anything so terrible that he had earned the hatred and disgust of his own father?

While to anyone else hearing these words from their father may have made them more convinced to be cured, it had had the opposite reaction in James. He was still the same boy his father had raised, the one who helped the farm hands in the field by day and protected Ash Park at night. He was still the little baby his father had held in his arms two and a half decades ago, he'd just grown up.

He'd fallen in love.

Was being cured really the only option for him?

James had never fully been able to accept the way he was, always living in fear of people finding out the one thing that no one could understand. He wished he could live without that fear and come to terms with it.

He was so envious of Harry.

He'd lied to him. And himself.

"_You asked me if I still felt, you know…if it was still there. I owe you the truth."_

"_It is still there."_

"_I lied."_

"_Why?"_

"_Some things are easier resisted if they're denied. But I made you feel like you're a freak, and that you're alone, and that's not true. If you can't find a way to proceed, a woman to love, then I hope that you can find…someone. To love."_

And now that James knew what his father thought of him, he wondered whether it would get better if he _was _cured. Even if he did get better, his father would always know. He would always feel some level of disgust when he looked at his son. His image would always be tarnished. He would always be the deviant son who brought disgrace upon the family.

Maybe he had it wrong. Would it really be so bad if he wasn't cured?

Perhaps Harry had it right all along.

And what about Doctor Stewart? James had sat on that chair and told the doctor he wanted him to cure him.

But did he?

He could not forget the feeling of being in William's arms, or the way he had felt with Harry in the Walker's barn.

Was being cured really the best thing for him?

Even if he was cured, he doubted he could ever love Olivia the way she deserved to be.

Even as he had been retreating into himself, he had heard what Olivia had said to his father.

A sob shook through his body.

She deserved so much better than he; a man who could not be _in_ love with her no matter how much he loved her.

"_You know?"_

"_Yes. For months."_

"_And you're here?"_

"_I love James. If you can't, get out."_

He didn't know how she could say such a thing. He couldn't understand why she would still love him when she knew he couldn't love her in the same way.

How much had he underestimated her?

"_I tried to kill myself because of this. In despair, on the ship. And I've thought about doing it a number of times since."_

Ever since moving to Sydney, she'd been so supportive. He'd doubted, for a while at Ash Park, whether she could ever look at him as a person again. The way she had acted was just as his father had – not as verbal, but her thoughts were the same – and the fact that it was her brother he was with made it harder for her. It had been right in front of her and she had never suspected. When she learnt of the news she had felt like such a fool for not thinking anything odd about the way James had suddenly wanted to marry her. Now James knew he was blessed to have her by his side.

He had not mentioned to her the second time he had almost killed himself but was again stopped. He had been by the creek, his pockets heavy with rocks when Gino Poletti had walked up, making polite conversation and ruining the moment.

He'd told her he had thought about it many times, not that he had _tried_ it more than once.

The men wheeled his bed through a door, closing and locking it behind them. Doctor Stewart rounded the bed, coming to stand beside James.

"Electro-compulsive Therapy or shock treatment as it's sometimes referred to is a medical procedure in which brief electrical stimulus is used to induce a cerebral seizure. A layman might call it a brain seizure. Under controlled conditions its… not pleasant. Your collapse into yourself is serious and must be treated immediately. We'll cure your sexual aberration later using a different technique." The man paused. "There's nothing to fear, it's been used on…thousands of patients."

Nodding to the other men in the room, they walked forward and circled the bed. James struggled as one of them forced a white cloth into his mouth.

"Stay still. This is just to prevent you hurting yourself."

The other two held down his arms and legs, pinning him to the bed.

He was frightened, breathing deeply through his nose and looking towards the machine the doctor was switching on.

Even as they placed the electrodes on his temples, he thought of Harry.

As the pain and the shock surged through him, he thought of his honest, open eyes and how they could see straight through James and his lies.

As his body convulsed heavily, seemingly splitting open every fibre of his body, fire coursing through his veins, he thought of the warmth of Harry's hand on his jaw, the feeling of his lips upon his.

No, James thought, he would not let them win.

Even if he could never be with Harry – or any other man for that matter – they could not rob him of his memories.


End file.
